


For a Good Time, Call

by nicolesolo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Happy Ending, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, My First AO3 Post, Pet Names, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Reylo - Freeform, Self-Isolation (mentioned), Shameless Smut, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vibrators, gratuitous description of ben's voice, it doesn't say phone sex in ben's job description but he's up for it, like the smallest amount of plot necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolesolo/pseuds/nicolesolo
Summary: Based on a Reylo Enabler Prompt from @elle_vee_reads...Rey's vibrator is broken. She needs to speak to customer service to get a replacement. Claims consultant Ben just needs to know exactly how that broken vibrator is working before he sends out a replacement...
Relationships: Rey/Ben - Relationship, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 60
Kudos: 276





	For a Good Time, Call

**Author's Note:**

> "mildly dubious consent" in that Rey starts masturbating without Ben's knowledge, and vice versa--but both are very into it.

Rey throws the vibrator the second she hears the voice.

“Thank you for calling ForceTech Industries, can I have your name and product number?”

The customer service voice speaking to Rey through the phone pulls Rey right out of her stupor. The vibrator safely flung across her bed, Rey adjusts the laptop so she can see her inbox clearly. “Product number,” she mutters to herself as she searches, fighting back a blush as she contemplates just searching the word “vibrator” in her inbox. The receipt must be hidden from her primary inbox, in an innocuous folder titled “stuff” that she knows Poe won’t bother looking at next time he comes lurking. She could’ve just deleted it, she supposes now, but no, Rey is a woman of fiscal responsibility, and so she’d forced herself to keep the receipt in case her “product” broke and she needed a replacement. She’s glad she told herself that back then. Now, she’s hopeful that the nice lady on the phone can _only_ see the product number.

“Rey Niima, product number 05620089,” she recites off the email, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Thank you, Miss Niima.” The feminine voice on the other end falls over a background of keystrokes. “And what can we do to assist with your ForceTech product today?”

“Well…” Rey’s eyes travel to the product, as the woman on the phone so innocuously called it. _She must not know,_ Rey thinks, staring at it. _She must not know I’m calling because my vibrator’s broken, and I desperately need to get off—_ “My…product,” she spits out, “Recently stopped working. And as it’s still under warranty, I’d like a replacement.”

“Of course, Miss Niima,” the agent says smoothly. “Unfortunately, I’m unable to complete a warranty claim on this call.” Rey lets her head fall back against the headboard and sighs. So, no quick relief, then. “But I can submit a claim on your behalf to the warranty team. They’ll be able to follow up with you about the product.”

“Alright.” Rey glares down at the vibrator, sleek black with a crimson buttons, laid out on her silk sheets. Taunting her. “Let’s do that.”

“Wonderful. First, let me pull up the form and put in your basic information…” the woman drones on about security and privacy for a few minutes while typing. Rey knows she should pay attention—the woman is probably getting paid minimum wage to take goddamn warranty claims on _vibrators_ —but she can’t help but think of other things. It’s the vibrator’s effect, having trained her pussy like Pavlov’s dogs. It doesn’t make her salivate, though. It just makes her pussy drip at the mere sight of the damn thing.

Of course, the vibrator alone isn’t enough to finish the job for Rey. No, Rey usually needs some…extra stimulus to get off. There’s porn, and a stack of erotic novels she keeps hidden away from Poe’s prying eyes, and always her imagination. All of it gets her closer to the edge, watching or reading or imagining a dark-haired man—because he’s always a dark-haired man—absolutely slamming himself into a tiny woman like Rey, filling her up until she can’t hold herself together, absolutely bursting at the seams, falling apart with a sob and a—

“Could you give me your email address, Miss Niima?”

The voice pulls Rey straight out of that train of thought. She tosses a pillow over the vibrator, mentally scolding the offending object for filling her head with such filthy, delightful thoughts at a time like this. “Sure,” Rey says, and gives the woman her information.

“I’ll pass along this claim,” the woman explains, “And you’ll receive an email within the next forty-eight hours with an update. In most cases, a replacement is issued right away.”

“That’d be great,” Rey says, trying to keep her voice normal and not at all dripping with the need that she’s trying to suppress so badly.  
“There is a small chance that the claims team requires more information, in which case, you’ll have the opportunity to call them directly and tell them more about your product’s damage. But that rarely happens.”

Rey sure hopes it doesn’t. She can’t imagine how she’s going to explain the details of her broken vibrator to a customer service agent.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today, Miss Niima?”

“No, thank you.” Absently, Rey moves the pillow aside. Her hand falls on the vibrator, dancing over the familiar silicone. Not exactly what she needs, but she’s been in self-isolation for months now. This is all she has to do the trick.

“In that case, have a wonderful day, Miss Niima.”

“You too,” Rey replies, and quickly hangs up. She throws the phone aside and pulls her underwear to her knees.

“Might as well,” she mutters, and lowers the broken toy between her legs.

—

It takes a full forty-six hours for the email to reach Rey’s inbox, not that she’s counting. Well, maybe not counting the hours, but she is counting by how many times she’s heard Poe and Finn having blissful sex next door while she’s been stuck with nothing to relieve her tension. By that count, it’s been thirteen orgasms for Poe and Finn. And a big, fat zero orgasms for Rey.  
The sky outside her bedroom is dark when she opens her email to see the message waiting for her:

  
_We need to chat with you about your claim.  
Please call us at 392-555-7854. Have your product nearby to discuss your claim._

  
Rey sighs. After her incident two days prior, when she spent hours trying to fuck herself on the lifeless toy, only to be left needy and riled up and definitely not orgasming like her unnecessarily loud roommates were, she’d washed the thing as fast as she could and threw it in the deep recesses of her desk drawer. Reopening it now, she has to shuffle past a neon-orange phone charger, a small model airplane, and a set of toothpicks to get to it.

“C’mon, you little tease,” she tells it, throwing it back on her rosy sheets. She doesn’t know why they need the product nearby, isn’t the product number itself enough? Nevertheless, Rey plugs in the number from her email and glares down at the vibrator as she waits for someone to answer.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other line isn’t at all what Rey’s expecting.  
It’s deep, and the word is spoken roughly, as if he’s in the middle of something and she’s distracting him. Not at all like the customer service woman the other day, who was polite, but strained, cheery with frustration just below the surface. This voice sounds like it gets what it wants. It stirs something in Rey, something she can’t make out.  
Her voice is a high squeak in response. “Hi. I—I’m trying to file a warranty claim for my ForceTech product?”

“Ah.” A simple, single syllable, but Rey’s hands clench around the phone, wanting to hear more. “Sure,” it says, and Rey begins to place it, forming a vision of who lies behind the syllables. Definitely male, a younger guy—not much older than she is—who’s big and broad. “Product number?”

“Uh…” Rey scrambles, trying to find her “stuff” folder again. She’d expected that he would have it open and on file, but then again, she is the one calling. “Let me pull it up—“

He chuckles. “It’s alright if you can’t find it. Do you know your name?”

Rey’s head snaps up. “Yes, I know my _name_.”

“Just a joke,” he says, but she can hear the smile in his words. She bets he has dimples. “So?”

“So, what?”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh.” Rey flushes, and she’s glad this man can only hear her. “Rey. Rey Niima.”

“Niima…” he must be searching something, the way he lets the word trail off, a melody through the phone. Damn if it doesn’t do something to her, hearing someone say her name in such deep tones. “Ah. Rey Niima.” Rey smiles when he says her voice. Something about the way he talks is just…lovely. “Found you.”

“Yeah,” Rey says to herself softly.

He clears his throat. “Any luck with the product number, Miss Niima?”

Oh, _fuck_ , the way he says Miss Niima is something else. He’s dark-haired, Rey decides, because it’s been three-months of self-isolation, three months since she met someone new, someone whose voice alone awoke something in her. “Right, of course,” she babbles, remembering too late to look for the folder. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I had to put the receipt in a weird folder because my roommates don’t believe in privacy. It’ll take just a moment for me to find it.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, his tone unbothered. “I’m sorry about your roommates. I’m sure that’s made self-isolating a nightmare.”

“It has,” Rey says, a smile crossing her face. Her mouse hovers for a moment as she glows from this stranger’s kindness. “I hope you don’t have any roommates snooping around.”

He laughs, and it’s a deep rumble that echoes in her ear. She drinks it in as she finally pulls up the message. “Mine isn’t nosy,” he explains, “But he’s loud at…unfortunate intervals.”

“Oh.” And then Rey understands. “ _Oh_.”

“I—sorry, I shouldn’t say that,” he says, his voice quick. “If you could just—“

And no, he absolutely shouldn’t have, but Rey hasn’t had anyone to talk to for months beside her co-workers on Zoom calls, and Finn and Poe when they aren’t working or fucking each other. She’s desperate to hear another voice, a voice like this one, that’s dark and embracing, yet friendly in the same stroke.

“My roommates are exactly the same,” Rey tells him. She knows she’s smiling wide enough that her own dimples must be showing. “They’re shagging day and night, keeping half the neighborhood up while they’re at it.”

The man laughs over the phone, that deep, sweet sound again. “It’s like a giant fuck you to every one of us who’s single, isn’t it?”

“Exactly, and then my vibrator died out! Can you believe that?”

Rey fears she’s overshared when the line goes silent, but then a spurt of laughter reaches her ears. “Is that what you’re calling about?”

“I…” Heat floods Rey’s cheeks. For a second, she contemplates hanging up, calling another day, talking to someone else who can be clinical and not so…friendly. Teasing. Someone who isn’t this lovely voice.

But what if he’s the one who answers her call again? It’s unlikely, she reasons. But she’s not sure if that unlikeliness relieves her or scares her.

“Yes,” she says proudly, “I, Rey Niima, am claiming a warranty on my broken vibrator, and you…”

“Ben,” he supplies.

“And you, claims consultant Ben, are going to help me get a new one.”

There’s a light chuckle, and then, “Of course, Miss Niima. Whatever you need.” And that feeling, that thing his voice does to her—it does it again. And Rey realizes what it is with a start. It’s arousal.

 _I’ve been in isolation too long_ , Rey thinks. But her heart starts to race all the same.

“Well then,” his deep voice says, and is it lower now? She can practically picture this man, thick eyebrows lowering above a smirk. “Let’s get started. Your product number?”

“05620089.” Rey’s breathless, the numbers barely squeaked out.

“Thank you, Miss Niima.” Oh, Rey is so fucked. She’s always had a thing for formal names and endearments, for being _Miss Niima_ , or “princess,” or “my love.” It’s been so long since she’s been called anything like that. And this voice calling her that? Rey can feel a fluttering in her core.

“And when,” Ben continues, “Did you purchase this product?”

“July of last year,” Rey says, fighting to muster as much confidence as possible.

Gentle keystrokes echo over the line. “Why?”

“Why…” Rey trails off. “Why, what?”

Rey clutches the phone to her ear to hear Ben’s lowering voice. “Why did you buy yourself a vibrator, Miss Niima?”

“I... well, there were certain bodily needs I wanted to take care of.” She’s flush with the words, and now she’s thinking about that vibrator, again, sitting on the sheets beside her. She wonders, with how slick she feels between her legs, how easily it would enter her.

“Bodily needs?” Ben prompts. “Do be specific, Miss Niima.”

She nods, forcing herself to hold steady. “Well, I—I broke up with my boyfriend, and was craving…” How do you say orgasms to a warranty claims specialist? “Well, I wasn’t having sex anymore, and I needed to…do the job,” she says, and prays he doesn’t hear the catch in her voice.

“You wanted to…” he pauses, and somehow his voice drops again, “Give yourself an orgasm?”

“Yes,” Rey squeaks out, and she can feel wetness seeping into her panties. She tells herself to get a grip, because she has no idea what this man looks like, or who he is, or what he’s doing. For all she knows, he could be jacking himself off under his desk as they’re talking.

That image should frighten her, she knows it should. But all it does it send a shudder of delight down her spine. Because she bets his dick is glorious, long and veiny, with just a lovely bead of precum at the top to smear along her walls—

“And did it do the job?”

Rey’s fingers hover over the waistband of her pajama shorts. “Yes.”

“As well as your boyfriend did?”

“ _Ben_ ,” Rey pants out, before she can stop herself. And the line goes silent.

 _Oh god, I’ve fucked this up_ , Rey thinks, even though she doesn’t quite know what this is. What she does know is that her hand’s found its way into her pants, her fingers tracing the outline of her clit through her panties. She can feel the hard nub, taught with want, with want for him, for his voice—

“Miss Niima,” Ben says, voice husky. “Tell me about when the product stopped working.”

Rey sure as hell hopes she’s reading this right, but…what the hell, if not, it’s not like she’s going to run into this man again one day. He’s a stranger on the phone who’s turning her on, asking about her masturbation habits, and doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.

“Well, it was later in the evening,” she begins, letting her voice slip into sultriness. Her fingers circle her clit, tracing patterns over it as goosebumps travel over her thighs, her body aching with need. “I was in my bed, wearing my panties and a tank top—“

“Your bed. What kind of sheets does it have?” He asks. “The material…might affect the product.”

Rey’s lips split into a Cheshire Cat smile. He’s playing along, isn’t he? “Of course,” Rey replies smoothly. “Silk.”

She swears she can hear him growl on the other end of the line.

“I was using the product on myself as I always had,” Rey continues, “Brushing it over certain areas, inserting it in others...” Ben clears his throat. “And I was painfully close to orgasm—so close, my back was arching off the bed—when it…well, it just stopped.” Her fingers race faster, climbing closer to recreating that moment. “And I was just left in my bed, all riled up without release.”

A deep breath echoes through the phone. “What did you do?”

“Well, I tried charging it, changing the batteries, giving it a day—“

“About the—“ he stops, confused. “You thought I meant about the…the product. Of course.” He pauses. Rey smiles, imagining this man, trying to get a picture of her getting herself off, and stopped just before he could get his reward. “None of those methods worked?”

“Sadly, no. I haven’t been able to use it successfully since.” She breathes, and then quickly adds, “Not that I haven’t tried.”

“Mmm.” The smile returns to Ben’s voice, and with it, the image of Ben’s hand around his cock in Rey’s mind. If she’s already imagining him to be a hulk of a man, she may as well imagine his hands as massive, too, huge palms encircling his dick, pumping up and down and using that sliver of precum to lubricate himself. “Well Miss Niima,” Ben says, and in Rey’s fantasy, he pumps harder at her name, “I’m going to need you to try a few more things with your product before I can decide whether you should have a replacement.”

“Of course,” Rey purrs, and pulls her hand out of her pants. She reaches for the black silicone. “I have it right here, Ben.”  
He moans, openly and without hiding it, and Rey knows now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man is just as turned on as she is. It should scare her, but it doesn’t. It makes her want to make him come.

“Well, Miss Niima,” he instructs her, “Can you try turning it on and off again? See if you feel anything?”

Rey humors him, flicking the switch in her hands. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Ah, well, the vibrations might be subtle. You may need to try it while it’s placed in a more sensitive area. Your clitoris, perhaps?”

Rey’s shorts are off faster than she thought humanly possible. “I’ll try there, right now, while I’m on the phone with you,” she says, because now she wants to draw this out.

“Please do, Miss Niima.”

“Alright,” Rey says softly as she slides the vibrator over her overstimulated clit. “It’s there, I—I can feel it.”

“How does it feel?”

“Good, but it’s…cold.” Rey tries—but not too hard—to bite back a moan. A bit slips through the phone, and she pictures him tightening his grip on himself. “Almost what I need, but not quite.”

“No vibrations?”

“No vibrations.”

“That won’t do,” he practically growls, and the sound goes straight to Rey’s engorged clit. “It’s meant to compensate for not having a thick, veiny cock inside you.”

Rey gasps at the words, and begins tracing her outer walls with the vibrator. When she closes her eyes, she imagines it’s Ben’s fingers stroking her. “A cock like yours?” Rey asks, so quietly she’s not sure he can hear it.

“Just like mine,” he growls, “Sliding over your clit, riling you up—“

A moan bubbles out of Rey’s lips. “I—it’s near my entrance now,” she tells him. “It’s not the same.”

“I bet it’s not, Miss Niima. A cold, silicone that can’t even vibrate isn’t going to take care of you right.” His voice is a low growl. “It isn’t going to slide into your walls, fill you up until nothing can fit, and you have no choice but to come all over a thick cock.”

“Like yours?” Rey asks, teasing her entrance.

“Like mine, Miss Niima.”

Rey sighs and pushes the vibrator inside.

“Where is it now?”

“Inside me,” she gasps, and begins pumping it in and out. “It’s not—it’s not—“ she needs to tell him it’s not vibrating, to keep up some semblance of this facade, but she can’t. She’s so riled up. So needy. And this fantasy, this man, this voice, might be enough to set her over the edge. “ _Ben—_ “

“How does it feel, Miss Niima?” His words are choked out.

“It’s not enough,” she mewls, “Not like you would be.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

Rey preens at the words, the endearment of _baby_ by a complete stranger. “It’s not going to be enough, I need it—“

“Shh, shh, I know, Rey,” he speaks in sweet tones, but there’s an edge to them, and the sound of something methodical thumping in the background. Could that be his hand, Rey wonders. “It’s not enough for me, either.”

“Are you touching yourself, Ben?” She whispers softly, needing him to say it, to turn that growing between her thighs into something more.

“How can I not? Fuck,” Ben’s breath turns labored, “Thinking of you in your silk sheets, impaling yourself on a broken piece of silicone when I could be there, I could be filling you up—“

“Ben, please—“

“I bet you clutch tight, Miss Niima,” he growls. “I bet you’re so tight, every time you move, it’s like a vice grip, milking my cock—“

Rey’s thrusts reach a fever pitch. Her wrist is tiring, but she pushes through, because she’s close, so close. “Ben, Ben, Ben,” she babbles into the phone, his name a prayer, “I am, they always tell me how tight I am—“

“And I bet you’re tiny, too—“

“Mhmm.”

“So small next to a tall guy like me.”

“I knew you’d be huge,” Rey sighs, increasing the frequency of her trusts.

“I am,” he growls, “Big enough to see my dick in you through your stomach, I bet.”

Rey mewls, and she can feel it coming, the edge of the wave just in sight.

“I’d take you so well, you’d never need a toy again. I’d fuck you so good, and eat you after.”

“Tell me,” Rey begs, “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“ _Fuck_ , I—I’d sit you on my lap, and have you bounce up and down on my cock, and I’d—I’d—fuck, Rey, I’m—“

It hits Rey, and she screams. The orgasm washes over her, setting her rigid, her hips arched up in the air, the pressure on her shoulders and feet not a concern compared to the absolute bliss spreading across every part of her. She works herself through it, thrusting like mad, listening to Ben in her ear, his cries of, “fuck, Rey, what you’ve done to me, fucking fuck.” Her own breaths hard and labored, filled with mewls and cries on each exhale.

When it ends, it ends hard, Rey’s body crashing back onto the mattress on an exhale, the springs recoiling and squeaking to embrace her. But Rey feels good, better than she has in months. All the porn in the world can’t measure up to Ben’s voice.

He’s gone quiet now—spent, Rey thinks, because there’s no way he hasn’t come by now. “Ben,” she says into the phone, not knowing what she’s going to say, but trusting herself to say something. “Ben, I—I need to know you, to see you, to do this again.” She waits, but there’s no response. “Please. Ben?”

She looks down at the phone, and realizes with horror that in her post-orgasm come-down, she hit the wrong button and ended the call.

Ben is gone.

Rey takes the vibrator and throws it across the room.

—

She tries calling the number back six times that night, each time asking, “Ben?” Her voice is full of optimism with each call. But each time, it’s a different claims specialist, someone whose voice doesn’t make her toes curl or her breath catch. _Maybe he’s offline for the evening_ , she tells herself. _Maybe his internet went out._

Rey calls the next day, and the day after, and the day after, twelve more times in total, before she officially gives up.

But it’s good, Rey tells herself, that this happened. Not just because of the orgasm—and hell, what an orgasm it was—but because it reminded her that someone could give her an orgasm like that. Maybe, she thinks, when quarantine is over and she can go out again, she’ll venture out on a date or two. Try and find someone.

They won’t be Ben. But they’ll be someone.

—

Three weeks after the call, a box arrives.

It’s small, discrete packaging, thrown in with the rest of the mail. ForceTech Industries, the return address label reads, and while Rey has an inkling of suspicion, she doesn’t let herself get too hopeful. She would’ve gotten a tracking email or something, if it’s related to that product, which she assures herself it isn’t. Ben probably closed his computer after the call, cleaned up, and never thought of her again.

But she decides to open the package in the privacy of her room, just in case.

It’s packaged like a gift, and when Rey springs the lid, she finds a beautiful, black vibrator with red buttons waiting for her, nestled in silver packing paper like a Christmas present. It’s the same model that broke, but clean and fresh, untouched, unused. She runs a soft finger over it, wondering if it will feel the same now. If it will always remind her of Ben. Of course, there’s only one way to find out, so she picks it up.

And finds a note waiting underneath:

_For a good time, call 872-555-9051. But don’t you dare hang up.  
\- Ben_

A smile crosses Rey’s face. Quickly as she can, she pulls back her bedcovers to reveal the silken sheets, then takes off her shorts and top. She settles in with the vibrator in one hand and her phone in the other.

Rey dials the number and presses call.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then Ben's manager Phasma listened to the call, and he was promptly fired.
> 
> This is my first fic! Inspired by the many Reylo fics I've been reading throughout quarantine. Thanks to all the lovely Reylo creators for creating a welcoming space for newcomers! 
> 
> Would love any criticism/feedback in the comments. I have plans for many additional Reylo fics, so give me a follow here or on Twitter at @nicolesolo_ao3 to get updates about new fics.


End file.
